


say you like me

by sagexbrush



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts AU, I really loved writing this, Love, fluffy as all hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 19:56:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5018305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagexbrush/pseuds/sagexbrush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She couldn’t help herself from staring at his abs, at those glorious muscles that probably rivaled Jackson’s. She’s still staring when he tosses his robes at her, the cloth smacking her right in the face. </p><p>	They smell nice, like soap and boy and what the fuck was she doing she was Lydia Martin and Lydia Martin didn’t notice things about boys like Stiles Stilinski, especially when said boy was jumping into the lake to see if there was a Giant Squid because he was an idiot like that. </p><p>(or a stydia hogwarts au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	say you like me

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i found this fantastic list of prompts and i seriously died omg they're all perfect and i wrote most of them. 
> 
> it's probably crap but HERE YOU GO

           [prompts](http://severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com/post/123842391158/imagine-your-otp-hogwarts-edition)

 

She’s having probably the worst day in the existence of Hogwarts (which was saying something because the worst day before that was probably the day someone brought the Sorting Hat in, like seriously that hat was _ugly_ ) but now she’s almost positive that she’s broken that record.

            First, she had caught her (former) best friend and her (ex) boyfriend making out in the restricted section – like guys she was the head girl with advanced classes that was probably the stupidest place to cheat on her _seriously_.

            Next, Professor Flitwick had given her back an essay that she had gotten an A on (Acceptable?!), _and_ some stupid first year had spilled tomato soup on her white shirt.

            So she had decided to go and see if she could go track down Allison (who was not the best friend she had caught in the library). The other girl could usually be found somewhere outside, either with her doting boyfriend Scott, or with her bow and arrows, which Allison _swore_ was just a hobby – Lydia personally found it odd that she would be so interested in a such a muggle art.

            She was just heading outside when the boy (quite rudely she might add) ran into her head on, causing her to spill dramatically to the ground, her head making a rather unpleasant cracking sound against the stone floor.

            “I’m so sorry!” the boy babbles, yanking her rather unceremoniously to her feet. “I was just – you weren’t heading outside weren’t you?”

            She recognizes him as Scott’s best friend, the odd skinny boy who followed Scott and Allison around like some misguided puppy and could _potentially_ be considered cute if he managed to go three seconds without talking.

            “I was,” she sniffs, deciding it’s really none of his business. “Why?”

            “I accidentally let loose Hagrid’s whole stock of Blast-Ended Skrewts,” he goes on hurriedly, and she just _looks_ at him. “I swear it was an accident, my hand just slipped on the latch of just one of them and it _somehow_ managed to blast open all of the other boxes and I can’t find Hagrid _anywhere_ – “

            His words are coming so fast that Lydia merely gapes, wondering what he’s actually _saying_ – “Excuse me?” she replies faintly.

            He gestures wordlessly with his hands for a few moments, “Blast-Ended Skrewts,” he finally says, “Free. Dangerous. Probably going to burn off all of your hair. And maybe your skin.”

            “You let loose all of them?”

            “Yup.”

            They stand there for a few seconds more, just looking at each other in a contemplative silence before the boy is swearing under his breath.

            “Not yup – I meant _RUN_!”

            He grabs her hand and yanks her into the castle, shrieking as a fireball zooms over their heads and hits the wall with a resounding crash.

            (She is going to kill him.)

            (It’s later, between gasped breaths, that he tells her his name is Stiles and she calmly flips him off, and decides that going to bed early is better than anything else she could possibly do.)

 

**_ii._ **

 

            Now that she’s met him, he seems to find it appropriate to suddenly become her Transfiguration partner.

            In fact, she didn’t even know that he was in her Transfiguration class, or in her year _at all_ until she entered the classroom and found him calmly sitting in the spot that her (former) best friend used to fill.

            She doesn’t want to make a spectacle and force him to get up and move, because then:

            a. She’d be without a partner.

b. she’d look like a bitch.

            So instead she just plops right down and rests her bag on the table, pointedly ignoring the way Stiles is staring at her with those brown eyes that now that she notices them, are actually a lovely shade.

            “So I wanted to say,” he says before Professor McGonagall can begin the lesson, “That I really am honestly, truly, sorry about yesterday. Seriously.”

            He’s looking at her like he’s genuinely _sorry_ , like he actually cares if she was offended in any way from the events that had transgressed the day before.

            “It’s fine,” she says quickly, and then Professor McGonagall clears her throat and she snaps to attention. This is their seventh year, so the new advanced stuff is almost even difficult for _her_. Regardless, it needs her full attention.

            Unfortunately, Stiles doesn’t seem to value her need for attentiveness and continues his attempts to get her to _like_ him (or at least that’s what she thinks it is anyways.)

            “So I was wondering if you really believed that the giant squid existed,” he continues on to her in an undertone, “Because I have some stupid first years who are swearing it _doesn’t_ exist and I’m just like oh my god sometimes first years are so – _fresh_ you know?”

            She looks at him; mouth slightly agape, before she shuts it quickly.

            “No, as a matter of fact I _don’t_ know, and quite frankly _I_ don’t even think there is a giant squid.”

            He looks at her in horror. “Please tell me you’re lying.”

            “I am not. I do not,” she exaggerates each word, “Think there is such a thing as the giant squid. Period.”

            He looks at her like she’s seriously offended him. “

            “Wow, I didn’t think you were that cold hearted Lydia.”

            “That’s me, stealing children’s candy.”

            “Wow, you’re amazing me every moment with your horribleness.”

            “I’m glad I could provide some entertainment.”

            “Ms. Martin, Mr. Stilinski,” says a loud disapproving voice from the front of the room, and both Stiles and Lydia cringe as Professor McGonagall fixes them with a beady eyed stare that she usually reserves for the _real_ troublemakers (which Lydia is quickly remembering actually _is_ Stiles), “Should I pause the lesson? Or are the both of you finished with your pointless flirting?”

            Stiles splutters like a fish caught out of water, but Lydia merely tosses her curls and fixes Professor McGonagall with a look that suggests that she’s _clear headed and ready to learn and was not flirting with Stiles, she had just had a break up._

“Alright,” Professor McGonagall continues, “Now you all have goblet in front of you, and I want you to focus on turning that into a bird.”

            Lydia stares at her in disbelief, because um _no_ she was not actually paying attention and _yes_ while she was a genius, she usually did best in potions, not _transfiguration_.

            There is a challenge in the Professor’s eyes however, and Lydia knows that she can’t back down if she wants to fairly represent her house (Ravenclaw) and show that she’s perfectly fine after her breakup with her (ex) boyfriend.

            So she grips her wand (willow, twelve inches, bendy) like it’s a weapon and points it firmly at her goblet, concentrating on everything she’d learned in the past.

            Unfortunately, while she’s supposed to be turning it into a bird, she’s still rather distracted by Stiles beside her, who is flourishing his want in such a manor she’s slightly scared for her safety  - so her nonverbal spell gets kind of well _tangled_ in her head, and her bird isn’t well… a bird.

            She still blames Stiles as her goblet morphs into a gigantic spider with furry legs and clicking pincers, scuttles across the desk, and _bites_ him.

            Nope, it’s not her fault at all.

 

***

 

            Of course, the spider bite is venomous, and is he automatically rushed to the hospital wing by a frantically spluttering Professor McGonagall and maybe she doesn’t see him at dinner and is _slightly_ concerned, even though she could have simply lost him in the crowded mass of the Gryffindor table. In fact, she’s 95% sure that house is totally useless, except for Harry Potter probably, and that was still on the table as to if he was _actually_ useful. (Just because he made it past dementors and was entered in the Triwizard Tournament didn’t make him superman okay.)

            “Go and talk to him then,” Allison says, having ditched her house table (also Gryffindor) so she could sit with Lydia. “Bring him a gift.”

            “Why would I bring him a gift?”

            “Because you’re the reason he’s _in_ the hospital wing.”

            “Hey!”

            “It’s true.”

            Lydia sighs. “I know. But what sort of gift do I bring someone I hardly even know?”

            “He likes chocolate frogs,” Allison suggests.

            “How do you know that?”

            Allison merely gives her a look. “He’s Scott’s best friend,” she says, like it’s the only answer she needs, and Lydia supposes, it is.

            Lydia sighs again; she does have some chocolate frogs (curtsey of her Mother) but is still debating on whether or not this boy who was practically a stranger to her _deserved_ them.

            “It’s the polite thing to do Lyds,” Allison encourages, like Lydia actually cared about _politeness_.

            “Fine,” Lydia sighs, but only because Allison is looking at her like she’s a gigantic puppy and goddamn it she can’t handle Allison’s puppy dog eyes.

 

***

 

            She brings about four chocolate frogs to the hospital wing, this was not like _Lydia Martin_ and she’s slightly concerned that Jackson’s break up has made her soft.

            Stiles is sleeping when she arrives, his mouth hanging agape and the slight traces of drool clinging to his lips, but he looks healthy enough, other than the faint traces of black around his veins but _whatever_. If he were going to die, he would be at St.Mungo’s and not in the hospital wing.

            She decides to just leave the frogs by his bed; he can just accept them as an anonymous gift and leave it at that.

            As soon as she drops the frogs on the table however, his eyes fly open with all the force of a charging bull and she lets out a cry of surprise and takes several steps back.

            “Lydia?” he mumbles, and she can feel a heated blush coming on (which is fucking ridiculous she might add).

            “Hey Stiles!” she says quickly, “I just came by, to um, to give you these.” She gestures limply to the frogs on the table.

            His eyes light up at the sight of them. “Aw thanks! You really didn’t have to get me anything though.” (Lydia makes a mental note to point this out to Allison later.)

            “Yeah well I’m the reason you’re in here,” she says, only slightly sheepishly, “So it was the least I could do.”

            She thinks Madame Pomfrey must have given him some sort of pain spell that makes him loopy because he grins up at her like she’s made of sunshine or something.

            “I know this is gonna sound weird,” he says, “But can we be friends Lydia?”

            She’s ninety-five percent sure that he’s basically high right now and can’t really filter his words, and she also knows that she should probably say no just because she’s _Lydia Martin_ but –

            “Sure,” she says it like it’s nothing, and his stupid grin is enough of a reward.

 

***

 

            So she is Stiles Stilinski’s friend all of the sudden, and it’s really _weird_ considering he nearly killed her by setting loose all the Blast-Ended Skrewts and she nearly killed him by turning her goblet into a venomous spider so yeah their friendship isn’t _normal_.

            But her (former) best friend and (ex) boyfriend keep prancing around like they own the place (and everyone knows that if anyone owns the school it’s obviously Harry Potter) and Allison is so wrapped up in Scott that Lydia swears they’re the same person practically.

            So Stiles is their replacement.

            She isn’t sure why, but she actually _enjoys_ hanging out with him. She likes his stupid grin, the way the moles on his cheeks stretch when he smiles, the way he somehow manages to botch up every Magical Creatures lesson…

            Lydia was growing more and more grateful that she was in Ravenclaw and didn’t have that class with him because he was more destructive than the _Weasley_ twins.

            Anyways, while Lydia may enjoy hanging out with him occasionally, he is not beyond getting on her shit list. (In fact, she’s pretty sure she’s put him on it at least twenty times this week alone.)

            “There is a giant squid,” he argues. It’s one of the last warm (warm being a loose term) days before winter descends upon them.

            “There is _not_ a giant squid,” she repeats, drawing her sweater tighter around her. Her eyes rove over the giant Durmstang ship, and part of her wonders if Viktor Krum would be interested in her…

            “Prove it.”

            “You prove that there _is_ one,” she says automatically.

            He surprises her. “Fine!” he declares, standing up and beginning to tug his robes over his head.

            “What the hell are you doing?”

            “I’m proving you wrong,” he says infuriatingly, dropping her a wink.

            “What do you mean you’re – “ her comment falls short as he finishes pulling the robes over his head, leaving him in a pair of trousers and well – _nothing_ on top.

            Out of all the people in their house, she never expected _Stiles Stilinski_ to be ripped. Seriously, like _c’mon_. It was _Stiles_.

            She couldn’t help herself from staring at his abs, at those glorious muscles that probably rivaled _Jackson’s_. She’s still staring when he tosses his robes at her, the cloth smacking her right in the fact.

            They smell nice, like soap and boy and what the fuck was she doing she was _Lydia Martin_ and Lydia Martin didn’t notice things about boys like Stiles Stilinski, especially when said boy was jumping into the lake to see if there was a Giant Squid because he was an idiot like that.

            “You can’t actually – “ she begins, and he answers her by taking a running jump into the lake. Well, if the merpeople kill him, at least it won’t be her fault.

            “What are you doing?” Jackson’s voice is an unpleasant distraction from Stiles’ submergence, and she flicks her eyes up at him for only a brief second before looking at anything else.

            “I’m studying,” she says, gesturing at the Charms books strewn around her.

            “Alone?” he eyes the robes on her lap.

            “No,” she says, “My – he just went for a walk.”

            “He?”

            “You’re not the only one capable of moving on Jackson,” she says smartly, totally lying through her teeth.

            “So who’s this new boyfriend of yours?”

            “I never said he was my boyfriend.”

            Jackson looks confused. It’s a good look on him, she notes.

            “What?”

            “He’s my _friend_. Moving on doesn’t necessarily mean romantically.”

            “Well he must be pretty special than,” Jackson says, smirking, “To replace me.”

            Lydia wracks her brains for the right word to describe _Stiles_ but before she gets the chance there’s a huge spluttering cough from behind them.

            Jackson and Lydia both start and whirl around to watch Stiles climb out of the lake, shivering, his pants hanging awfully low on his hips and his grin perhaps the dorkiest one he’s ever given her.

            “I saw it!” he chants victoriously, “I told you so Lyds! It’s big, and scary, and I’m pretty sure it might have been thirsting for my blood but I _saw_ it.”

            (Lydia mentally face palms.)

            “A walk,” Jackson says, “Right.”

            Stiles starts to look sheepish, perhaps realizing that he has, in fact, interrupted something.

            “Lydia?” he asks, his eyes like that of a small child’s.

            “I’ll see you around Lydia,” Jackson says, winking, and Lydia calmly flips him off.

            (She then chucks Stiles’ robes at his head but hey, nobody’s perfect)

***

 

            “Lydia, I have something very important to tell you,” Stiles says seriously one day, sitting next to her in the library. Since neither of them are in the same house, it’s become sort of _their_ spot.

            “And that is?” she asks, already bored as she aimlessly flips a page.

            “I think Scott Jr. is in love with Prada,” he says in the same serious tone, and she just looks at him. Just _looks_. Finally:

            “Who’s Scott Jr.?”

            “Well I call him Scotty for short but he’s my frog.”

            “And he’s in love with my cat.”

            “Yup.”

            (She resists the urge to bang her head against the table.)

            “And why do you think this?”         

            He leans in close, and whispers into her ear.

            “I caught them together.”

            “Together?”

            “Alone. In my dorm I might add, which is highly suspicious because you’re in Ravenclaw and I’m in Gryffindor – “

            Damn it, she’s interested now.

            “What were they doing?”

            “Prada was licking the top of his head! LICKING IT LYDIA, SHE WAS LICKING IT. Do you realize how sexual that is for frogs? And cats?”

            “I’m sure she was just grooming him.”

            “Grooming is for creatures with _fur_ Lyds,” he points out, “SCOTTY DOES NOT HAVE FUR HE IS A FROG. SHE WAS SEDUCING HIM.”

            “Well, it looks like your frog got seduced then.”

            “Scotty doesn’t fall for no woman.”

            “Prada is a cat.”

            “A lady cat!”

            “And she seduced him!”

            “She must have used a spell!”

            “Prada can’t do magic Stiles.”

            “Whatever, they’re in love.”

            “No they’re not.”

            “SHE WAS LICKING HIM.”

            Lydia shrugs. “It was probably a one time thing. Prada doesn’t like commitment.”

            “Are you saying Scott Jr. was merely a passing fling in her long life?”

            “Of course he was! Scotty is a frog! He’ll probably die like tomorrow anyways.”

            Stiles gasps. “You did not just say that.”

            “I did.”

            “Scotty is immortal.”

            “Frogs aren’t immortal Stiles.”

            “Maybe not, but his love for Prada was _real_.”

            “It’s not going to change his lifespan.”

            He looks at her for one long moment, “I am not talking to you for the rest of the day.”

            “Good luck with that.”          

            “Thank you.”

            “You just talked.”

            “DAMN IT ALL!”

            (And that’s how they get kicked out of the library…)

           

***

 

            “Lydia stop.”

            She’s gasping for laughter, and is seriously considering rolling around on the floor.

            “That’s why you won’t perform that spell in front of Professor Moody? _That’s_ why?”

            “Shut up,” he growls, the tip of his ears turning pink, “It’s shape is beyond my control.”

            “It’s a butterfly!” she gasps, “Your patronus is a fucking butterfly.”

            “I _swear_ it was a fox yesterday,” he protests, “But then when I woke up this morning-” he gestures limply at the spectral bug floating around the room.

            She laughs again, just because it feels nice bouncing against the insides of her chest. “You know that this means you’re basically a butterfly inside, right?”

            “It’s not funny Lyds!” he wails, “This is a serious matter.”

            She can’t stop laughing.

            (She laughs even harder when he later realizes that his wand had been replaced with a clever trick wand, courtesy of the Weasley twins.)

 

***

 

            “I can’t believe you take Divination,” Stiles announces as he plops down next to her, his eyes bright.

            “I’ve been in you class all year,” she observes dryly. “I just choose to be quiet and actually _get my work done_.”

            He scoffs. “Get your work done? In Divination?”

            “What are you implying?”

            “That it’s about the fluffiest subject _ever_ ,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I mean, _Scott_ has an A.”

            “So why are you sitting by me again?”

            He presses one hand to his chest, letting out an exaggerated gasp. “I can’t believe you would ask such a thing Lydia, I mean, I am your friend after all.”

            “You just think you are.”

            “I do _not_ think so.”   

            “Sure you do. I can see it in your face dumbass.”

            “You’re just seeing my awesomeness.”

            “Keep telling yourself that.”

            “I will.”

            “Mr. Stilinski, Ms. Martin, is there something clouding your inner eye?” Professor Trelawney swoops down upon them like a hawk on a mouse, her eyes seeming even larger as she observes them dramatically. 

            “Just Lydia,” Stiles says cheerfully.

            “I have set an assignment for you,” Professor Trelawney says in that ridiculous voice of her’s that sometimes makes Lydia want to chuck a book at her head, “But perhaps a demonstration would be beneficial?” she mimes for Lydia to finish drinking her tea.

            Lydia obliges, although she isn’t quite sure what Professor Trelawney could see in her future _now_ that she couldn’t see over the past five years.

            “Aha!” she exclaims in a mystical voice as she passes her eyes over the contents of Lydia’s cup, “There is something very interesting in this cup, very interesting indeed.”

            (This can’t be good.)

            “What’s in her cup Professor?” Stiles asks, smirking.  In response Professor Trelawney grabs his own cup and dumps it out hastily.

            “I was correct!” she declares dramatically, “The two of you are bound by the red string of fate.”

            Stiles and Lydia take one long look at each other, and then back at their (supposed) teacher.

            “Excuse me?”

            “The red string of fate!” she declares, “Otherwise known as the person you’re destined to be with.”         

            Stiles makes an odd squeaking sound. “Be with?”

            “You two are soul mates!”  

            At which point Stiles promptly faints and Lydia wonders if killing a teacher will get you sent to Azkaban.

 

***

 

            Lydia Martin _was_ the Head Girl. She may not always act like it, but okay she was the Head Girl and she still held a sense of authority along with her partner Scott McCall because apparently Scott was just a _saint_ or something in everyone’s eyes.

            So, therefore, it was left to her to break up bothersome things like food fights. _Especially_ when the other prefects seemed to think that they could just turn their heads and ignore it.

            Lydia however, was not amused.

            The fight was between three third year boys, and as she stalked towards them she _swore_ she heard Harry Potter and his stupid friends remarking about how scary she was. (Well fuck you too.)

            She stepped in-between them, raising her wand and declaring the fight to be over in her best bossy voice.

            The boys decided that instead of throwing food at _each other,_ they’d just throw food at _her_.

            She was spattered with a variety of mashed potatoes, peas, and pumpkin juice before a familiar voice met her ears.

            “Oi you little assholes!” Stiles shouts, and she’s just about to tell him to forget about her and just _run_ – but it’s too late.

            The same food that’s hit her whams into Stiles’, splattering against his skin and covering him. She has to stifle a laugh because there’s just a moment when he simply looks stunned, like of all the things he was expecting today it was _not_ to get covered in food – but he quickly recovers.

            “YOU BETTER STOP IT RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME –“ he bellows, and the third years scramble.

            “Now you’re covered too –“ Lydia mumbles, her cheeks flaming. Stiles waves an absent hand.

            “I’ll just go wash it off before class – “

            “But everyone will be in the bathrooms. You won’t have enough time.”

            He shrugs. “It won’t be the first time I’ve been late.”

            “Just come to the prefect’s bathroom,” she says quickly, blushing.

            He crooks an eyebrow. “The _prefects_ bathroom?”

            She nods. “As long as we both swear not to look. That way you won’t have to be late.”

            ***

           

            This is an awful idea.

            In fact, it’s probably the worst idea she’s ever had.

            She slowly throws her dripping robes into the corner, trying not to think about how Stiles is similarly undressing in the _other_ corner. They have a strategy so neither one of them see each other naked, and Lydia’s already barricaded the door so no other prefects can get in.

            She quickly fills the bathtub with so many bubbles that there is no possible way that Stiles could see anything, and then slips inside, making sure that no parts of her are showing.

            She then closes her eyes as Stiles gets in and sweet merlin this sucks ass.

            “You covered?” Stiles’ voice is squeaky.

            “Yes,” she says, and they both open their eyes.

            The bubbles are so thick that she can’t see anything but his head, bobbing above the floaty mess.

            She’s quick and efficient, letting the soap do it’s work and wash the remnants of food out of her hair and off her skin, and is just about to tell Stiles that he has to turn around so she can get out when something spirals out of the tap.

            She screams as the ghostly shape solidifies into the shape of a girl, one with large glasses, and dark(ish) hair pulled back from a glum face.

            “Moaning Myrtle?” she demands shrilly, pulling more bubbles towards her. Stiles looks similarly distressed.

            “Awe,” Moaning Myrtle pouts, “I thought you were someone else.”

            Lydia gapes. “ _Who_?”

            Moaning Myrtle shrugs. “Harry Potter.”

            “Harry Potter is a _fourth year_ ,” Stiles is the one to speak up, “And therefore not allowed to use the bathroom, because he’s _not_ a prefect.”

            Moaning Myrtle swoops towards him, and Stiles lets out a very girl scream and tries to swim away, but she gets as close to his face as possible.

            “Come to think of it, I don’t think you’re a prefect either,” she hisses, “Besides, I’m sure you know that a boy and a girl shouldn’t be _bathing_ together.”

            “Can you please back up, just slightly?” Stiles asks in a squeaky voice, and Moaning Myrtle turns her nose up towards the ceiling.

            “I get it!” she suddenly wails, “You don’t _want_ me here! Nobody wants miserable, weeping Moaning Myrtle!” she whirls and swirls back into the pipe, sobbing.

            “I’m sorry?” Stiles says in an uncertain voice, and when Lydia looks back at him, she realizes that some of the bubbles around him have…evaporated.

            “Stiles,” she whispers, closing her eyes as tight as she possibly can, “You’re showing.”

            (They never talk about this again.)

 

***

 

            “You know this is my first time in the Restricted Section,” Stiles ponders, observing the shelves with a curious look on his face.

            “You’re in your seventh year.”

            “So?” he challenges, “Scott and I always needed the same books, so it didn’t really seem necessary for _both_ of us to go.”

            “Well why was Scott the only one to go?”

            “I think he wanted to meet Allison,” Stiles shrugs, “I’m pretty sure this is their make out spot.”

            Lydia wrinkles her nose, “Ew.”

            “Oh c’mon,” he says, “You must have had a make out spot at one point.”

            She lifts her chin high in the air, “Yeah, and you’ll never find it.”

            “Fine,” he rolls his eyes, and then rubs his hands together mischievously, “Now let’s find the weird books.”

            “You mean the History ones for our paper?” she inquires, trailing one finger along the dusty spines.

            “NO,” he says loudly, “That’s just boring!”

            “How is that boring?”

            “We should be looking for the weird sex books,” he says in delight, plucking one book off the shelf at random and flipping through it.

            Lydia just stares at him for a moment, then picks up a heavy books and whacks him in the shoulder.

            “Why the hell would their be weird sex books in a school library?” she demands. He shrugs.

            “Where else would they put them?”

            “Nowhere!” she half shrieks, “It’s a school!”

            “Um this school isn’t exactly the most age appropriate place if you haven’t noticed Lyds,” Stiles says flippantly, “I mean, we literally had a three headed dog and a whole corridor filled with things that could kill you three years ago, and now we’re having a deadly tournament, not to mention the basilisk, Sirius Black, and we’ve got a giant forest filled with – “

            “Okay I get your point,” Lydia holds up a hand to stop him, “But _appropriate_ and _dangerous_ are two different things.”

            “Tell that to Harry Potter, who had to fight a _dragon_ last week,” Stiles points out obnoxiously.

            She rolls her eyes. “I won’t help you find the weird sex books.”

            “Excuse me?!” Madame Pince whirls around the corner, her shriveled mouth and beady eyes looking _far_ more threatening than Lydia thought they could possibly be. “THERE ARE NO SUCH BOOKS IN THIS LIBRARY!”

            “I never – “ Lydia begins, but Madame Pince raises her wand, and she blanches.

            “GET OUT!” she shrieks, “NOW!”

            (She’s _so_ going to kill Stiles later.)

***

            “Did you hear about the Yule Ball?” she murmurs to Stiles in their next potions class.

            “Yeah,” he says, adding a few drops to his love potion. “Which explains why they put dress robes on the list.”

            “Are you going with anyone?”

            “As of right now?” he asks, “Nope.”

            She takes a deep whiff of her potion. “I think I did something wrong.”

            “Why?”

            “It smells like,” she leans over and smells him.

            “What the hell are you doing??”

            “Ugh, you must of worn extra Stiles today,” she says, “You’re all I can smell.”

            “What is that supposed to mean?”

            She takes another whiff of her potion, frowning. “I don’t know.”

            (Actually she does know, but good luck getting her to admit to it.)

 

***

 

            “Are you going to the Yule Ball?” he asks her on a Saturday. She toys with her robes, and then looks up at him. They’re in an abandoned corridor, working on their various assignments.

            “I don’t know,” she murmurs, “I don’t have a date.”

            “Well I was thinking,” and his voice is rather choked, like something’s blocking the words he’s trying to say (he’s been acting kind of weird since the love potion episode) “Maybe we should just go together. You know, as friends.”

            “As friends?”

            He nudges her shoulder playfully, “You’re my best friend.”

            She supposes she is.

            “Dances don’t really seem like your kind of thing.”

            “But they sound like your perfect kind of thing,” he points out, “And I wouldn’t want you to miss it.”

            She thinks that he’s probably the best friend she’s ever had (other than Allison of course) and lunges forward, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

            “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she shrieks.

 

***

 

            She was wearing silver dress robes that framed her figure perfectly, and Allison had snuck her into Gryffindor tower so she could do Lydia’s hair in an elegant poof.

            “Soooo,” Allison says, drawing out the oooo playfully, “You’re going with Stiles.”

            “As friends,” Lydia clarifies, “Just as friends.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “I’m positive,” she says, “I even clarified.”

            Allison tugs the final hair into place, and then steps back to admire her work. “I think you two would make an adorable couple,” she declares, and Lydia splutters.

            “Stiles and I? A couple? Have you been hitting the firewhiskey again?”

            Allison lightly whacks the back of her head.

            Lydia gets to her feet, places both her hands on her best friend’s shoulders, and looks her in the eye.

            “Stiles is my best friend,” she says slowly and carefully, “We’re never going to be a couple.”

            (She thinks.)

 

***

 

            “So you’re in love with her,” Scott says matter of factly.

            Stiles sighs. “Yup.”

            (He’s screwed.)

 

***

 

            It’s worth the extra money her Mother spent on these robes to see the look on Stiles face as she slowly and carefully walks down the stairs, her heels clicking against the tile, turning heads (including Harry Potter’s hahaha) as she reaches him.

            “Lydia,” says a familiar voice before she can say anything to Stiles, and she turns around to watch Jackson scrutinize her with a disgusting smirk. “You look – “ he breaks off and walks away.

            “Jackass,” Lydia huffs, “Who needs compliments anyways? I will not fall prey to – “

            “Well I think you look beautiful,” Stiles interrupts her, almost shyly.

            “Really?” she asks, almost in surprise.

            “Really,” he confirms.

            She takes his arm, swinging her hair and shaking her ass as she does.

***

 

            They decide to slow dance later, long after Harry Potter and his freckly friend have left, and long after Jackson slinks off into the corner with some bimbo.

            “Thank you,” she whispers, resting her head lightly against his shoulder, “I’m having a really nice time.”

            He presses the side of his face against her hair, and she can feel his warm breath tickling her neck, “No problem. For whatever reason, I feel like we’re going to need the happy memories.”

            She pulls back slightly, and realizes how close to his face she is, their noses almost brushing.

            “What do you mean?” she breathes.

            “Something’s coming,” he whispers, “I can feel it.” She watches his tongue flicker over his lips, moistening them.

            In that moment, she realizes two things.

            One, he’s going to kiss her.

            Two, she’s going to let him.

            He leans in, and against her will she leans in also, and their lips brush. It sends sparks if electricity shooting down her spine as he deepens the kiss, and it’s so blissfully beautiful and he tastes like _Stiles_ like warmth and home and sweet merlin she’s kissing _Stiles_   -

            He’s the one to pull away first, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape.

            “Stiles – “ she says, but he’s pulling away quicker than she can pull him back.

            “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “So sorry,” and he practically runs from the dance floor, leaving her alone in her silver dress robes, with smeared lipstick and a thousand unanswered questions.

 

***

 

            She can’t find him. It’s the winter holidays, and she’s literally scoured almost every inch of the castle (even going as far as to blackmail Allison into letting her into the Gryffindor tower) but still can’t find him _anywhere_.

            Finally she gives up. If he doesn’t want to see her anymore, then so be it. It wasn’t like she initiated the kiss or anything –

            So she spends the rest of the break in a studying fury, the papers around her rustling, her eye beginning to twitch, her hair in a tangle. Madame Pince has given up on getting Lydia to leave, finally accepting that it’s a lost cause.

            It’s the very last day, and she’s pouring over her potions notes when _he_ finds _her_.

            He’s wearing a strange getup however, she notes, in tight blue pants and a red plaid shirt, his hair mussed and deep shadows under his eyes.

            “Hey,” he finally says, pulling up the chair next to her.

            She glares at him. “Where have you been?”

            “Home.”

            “Why?” she barks.

            “I swear I was going to find you the next day and we could talk,” he says quickly, “But then Professor McGonagall found me and told me that my Dad had taken a bullet to the shoulder and I had to go home – “

            “What’s a bullet?”

            “It’s a sort of muggle curse…?” he says, “It’s like, a small ball of metal that hits you at a great speed and hurts you pretty badly.”

            “Why didn’t you send an owl?”

            “I have a pet _frog_ Lyds,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Besides, I didn’t really think you wanted to talk to me.”

            “I did,” she protests, “Because you kissed me Stiles.”

            “And I’m _sorry_ ,” he says in frustration, “I couldn’t help it. And I shouldn’t have done it, because I know I’m no – Viktor Krum or, Cedric Diggory or Harry Potter – “

            She frowns. “Why would say that?”

            “Because they have done _something_ to deserve your attention,” he says in frustration, “And me? I’m just an awkward muggle-born boy who has almost killed you on multiple occasions on accident.”

            “I don’t want Cedric Diggory, or Viktor Krum, or Harry Potter, who might I add – is three years younger than me and is kind of skinny.”

            “Then who do you want?”

            “ _You_ dumbass,” she rolls her eyes, “And I know it took me a while but I want _you_ idiot.”

            “Me?”

            “You.”

            “But why?” he asks, “I mean why me?”

            “Why do you like me?” she counters.

            “I like you because you’re _Lydia_ ,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, “You’re smart, pretty, funny, almost as sarcastic as me, and you don’t take shit from _anyone_. Your boyfriend cheated on you with your best friend and you bounced back stronger than ever, I mean what’s not to like about you?”

            “The fact that I’m mean, a prude, and it took me like way longer to realize you liked me,” she says, “Not to mention I didn’t even know you were a muggle born, which makes me feel like a pretty shitty friend.”

            “See?” he gestures, “I can’t compete with you.”

            “Oh just shut up,” she murmurs, leaning forward and kissing him hard on the mouth, “I like your hands,” she whispers, “I like the way you talk to me, I like the way you smile at me, I _love_ everything about you Stiles.”

            His eyes are wide. “Really?”

            “Really.”

            There’s a loud banging sound from behind them, and both of them turn around to watch as a girl with masses of curly brown hair grins at them.

            “About time,” she says.

***

 

            Stiles is nervous as he slips her fingers into her’s, a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face and his brown eyes wide.

            “I can’t believe they’re sending them into the _lake_.”

            “I know,” she mutters, snuggling close to him, watching as Harry Potter and the other nervous tributes standing nearly trembling at the lake’s surface.

            “I’m going to bet on Potter winning,” he says, and she grins.

            “You’re on.”

***

 

            As the Head Girl, she is supposed to give a (required) presentation to the fifth years about safe sex.

            Needless to say, it’s her least favorite time of the day.

            Especially when –

            “Um, can you repeat that last bit please?” Stiles asks, leaning forward in his chair, trying to look completely innocent. (She’s going to stab him a quill.)

            “Of course,” she repeats tightly, even though she _knows_ he knows this and not only because he’s in the seventh year but also because of _last night_ –

            “Slower this time?”

            “Stiles!”

            (She wonders if their relationship will end with her stabbing him.)

            (But probably not.)

            (Because she loved him.)


End file.
